


Silk

by Ribby



Category: The Prestige
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-02
Updated: 2007-03-02
Packaged: 2017-10-15 10:48:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ribby/pseuds/Ribby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Contemplation of silk hats leads to other silken thoughts for Robert Angier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Temve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Temve/gifts).



> For Temve, on her birthday.

Robert absent-mindedly ran his fingers over the new silk top-hat, marveling at the sensuous feel of the silk against his fingers. He went through top hats so quickly these days... having something like his own personal tailor was a godsend. Although the cost was far higher than any tailor would be--to himself and his wardrobe..

But thinking about silk inevitably made him think about Borden, and wonder. Would his skin be smooth, silky, like the silk of his hat? Warm, silk skin drawn oven fine bones, thinner at sensitive spots, rougher in others, like his hat? Or would it be rough, only silky and fine in the most hidden spots, like Borden himself?

He was alone in the workroom, Cutter having gone off some time ago "to tinker on something new." Even so, he struggled against the temptation... but finally, as he knew he would, gave in. Slid sideways to lie across the couch, opened his trousers, and shoved them down, for it wouldn't do to stain the fine wool with his guilt. But even that thought didn't stop him, as he palmed his erection and began, slowly, to stroke himself. Silk under his hands, warm slick skin.... would Borden feel like this under his hands? His eyes slipped closed and it was no longer his own hands, but Borden's, fine -boned but work-roughened hands sliding up and down his cock, sweet profanities whispered in that accented voice... warm lips sealing over his, taking his breath and returning it twofold.

Oddly enough, it was the idea of the kiss that sent him over, groaning and pulsing his release onto his stomach, whispering "Alfred," under his breath as the spasms took him. He lay there for a few minutes until his breathing steadied, then cleaned himself off with a handkerchief and buttoned up again, feeling sated but hollow, as he always did.

Looking over, he saw that his new silk hat had a few small splatters of his seed upon it. Rubbing the liquid into the silk, all he could think was, "I wish this was Borden." And the despair that stole over him at the thought was as familiar as the emptiness; he lay in the half-light, uncaring of the tears running down his face. "Alfred," he whispered again, and this time, the spasms were not pleasure, but sorrow.


End file.
